


A Perfect Storm

by SiwgrGalon



Series: Light a match, ignite a bomb-verse [1]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Angst, Depression, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mental Health Issues, mcpriceley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7726525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiwgrGalon/pseuds/SiwgrGalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> And while there’s still the classic puppy love, or whatever you want to call that first, intense stage of a new relationship, between them, Connor has also become synonymous with safety, warmth and the feeling of being home.</i>
</p><p><i>It’s hard to accept, Kevin thinks, that the one person who looks so perfect, albeit not flawless, to him, would carry something like depression on his shoulders, and from such an early age. </i> </p><p>Can be read as part of the series or as a stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Storm

**Author's Note:**

> _A "perfect storm" is an expression that describes an event where a rare combination of circumstances will aggravate a situation drastically. The term is also used to describe an actual phenomenon that happens to occur in such a confluence, resulting in an event of unusual magnitude._

Kevin Price has never been someone to easily worry, especially not about medical matters.

Then again, he also never had any contact with any form of serious illness, neither among his family nor his friends, especially not mental illness; or, at least he’s never _heard_ about it.

All in all, Kevin never really spared a thought on what it means to struggle with your mental health, in whichever form.

Even when, in a quiet, stolen moment under the large tree in the mission hut’s backyard, Connor – then still Elder McKinley, for a majority of the time – admitted that he’d been treated for depression a few years ago, before they started dating.

‘So… if we’re doing this, _us_ , there’s something you should know,’ Connor had said, his face scrunched up as he blinked against the last sunlight.

He’d been a bit fidgety, his hands running over his upper arms as if wanting to hug himself, and as he started to speak, there had been the faintest trace of discomfort in Connor’s voice.

‘I’ve been in therapy before, well, this. The mission, I mean,’ the redhead had hastened to clarify. ‘For depression.’

His eyes had been large, imploring. In retrospect, Kevin thinks Connor was probably asking, nearly begging, for the younger man’s acceptance.

Four years later, as Kevin is lying atop their dark green sheets, on the bed he shares with the same man who back then confessed his illness so insecurely, and scrolls through search results, the story is a different one.

It’s not really worry, though, more a deep sense of unease and insecurity, of not knowing what to do or how to do it, and it only grows the more he reads. There’s a small bit of helplessness in there, too.

Ever since Connor’s panic attack, and the following confession of having been suicidal in his teens, Kevin has been a bit on edge.

Of course, it’s probably nothing compared to what Connor must feel like. He might think he’s good at covering it up, but Kevin knows his boyfriend struggled with the immediate aftermath for a few days.

Nightmares and hell dreams are hard to hide from a light sleeper, especially if he’s lying right next to you. Not to mention Connor’s unusual flightiness, his insecurity in some situations, and the way he sometimes scans the subway cars.

Which is what lead to this – Kevin, lying on their bed, phone in hand, as he types ‘Clinical Depression’ into Google. The results are instant and plentiful.

So far, he’s read the Wikipedia article, whatever WebMD coughed up and a few other things, and while he probably should know better – especially as a future med student – he can’t help but think of the worst case scenario. 

It all sounds so bleak, so… dark, the former missionary doesn’t know how to cope with the information, but while every piece of information blurs together, two words stick out every time he reads them.

Suicidal ideation. 

That’s the symptom Kevin is most afraid of. It doesn’t feel like his place, like he’s allowed to be scared, terrified even, by those two words, but there’s no helping it. The thought of losing Connor is sending Kevin reeling.

It’s the first time in his life Kevin wishes someone in his family had been sick, had been depressive, or bipolar, or even just lived with Seasonal Affective Disorder, because then he’d feel less out of his depth. Less helpless.

Of course, there’s one person could ask about all of this. He’s just trying to get the wording right, because the last thing the former missionary wants is for Connor to shut Kevin out. 

As he slowly makes his way out of the bedroom, in search of his partner, he thinks about how best to breach a topic as sensitive as this. The size of their apartment is nowhere near spacious enough to give Kevin apt time to think, but as he crosses into the kitchen, the thoughts flee his mind at the view presenting itself.

Standing in front of their oven, his right leg extended behind him and crossing the left as if holding some sort of ballet position, Connor looks to be somewhere in his own world as he greases a pie tin. Much to Kevin’s amusement, he’s only changed out of the half of that day’s college attire. Pairing them with a dark blue button down with small, white dots, the sleeves of which are rolled up to reveal pale forearms, Connor nearly manages to make grey sweatpants look fashionable or, dare Kevin think it, sexy.

He does, however, allow himself to appreciate, just for a moment, how the slim cut makes Connor’s butt look. (It’s a good view.)

From a laptop on the table, some show tune or the other is playing on low volume; after a few bars, Kevin recognizes the Waitress cast recording.

 _How oddly fitting._ It’s such a Connor thing to do. The former District Leader seems to have a song for just about anything. The scene is so ordinary, so domestic, Kevin wants to spontaneously combust with emotions he can’t quite describe.

Instead, he makes his way over, slinging his arm around the redhead’s waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek (and yes, maybe he draws it out for a bit, simply because he can, and because he loves the way Connor smiles and crunches his nose) before hopping onto the worktop on the other side of their hob.

‘Hey, done with studying?’ 

Their eyes meet for a split second before Connor returns to the task at hand, kneading the pastry one last time. He looks relaxed, content even, and the knot around Kevin’s heart eases, just a little.

‘Yeah, for the day – don’t think my brain’s able to process any more information,’ Kevin says in return.

‘I might bother you into quizzing me tomorrow, but then I should ace that anatomy quiz.’

This is good, Kevin thinks, because it’s normal, it’s holding the shadows at bay, it’s like before the panic happened and turned everything upside down.

‘What are you making?’

‘Dinner,’ is the simple answer, and Kevin is sure he’s seen a grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat pass over Connor’s face, before he’s all innocence again. He expertly dodges the swat Kevin deals in retaliation, laughing under his breath.

‘Oh, haha, Con!’

Blowing a stray lock out of his face, Connor looks up again and yep, there’s that grin Kevin saw earlier.

‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist,’ he says, before reaching for a bowl Kevin hadn’t seen before.

‘I fancied something that’d need me to put in a bit of work, so it’s a spinach, feta and roast tomato quiche. Or will be, if this pastry works out.’

Passing the bowl over to his boyfriend, Connor also provides a spoon in clear invitation to give the mixture a try. Kevin doesn’t have to be asked twice.

And it’s worth it, he thinks, as the flavor explodes on his tongue. It’s fresh and slightly bitter from the spinach. Kevin nearly scrunches his face up, but just then there’s the tomato’s fruitiness, cut by sharp feta and some mint.

‘Oh, that is good,’ he mumbles, managing to get a second spoonful before Connor snatches the bowl from his hands, looking slightly pleased with himself as he takes a rolling pin to the pastry.

‘Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment.’

Nothing else needs to be said, for now.

As Connor putters around the kitchen, rolling and fitting pastry into the tin, Kevin perches next to him, simply watching. Taking in Connor’s face, the lines soft even in concentration, his working hands, the way the muscles in his forearms shift, tense, relax with each movement.

They do this quite often, just being with each other without the need to speak. The silence is never uncomfortable in these situations – something Kevin, with his large, noisy family, never thought he’d learn to appreciate or even love. 

And while there’s still the classic puppy love, or whatever you want to call that first, intense stage of a new relationship, between them, Connor has also become synonymous with safety, warmth and the feeling of being home.

It’s hard to accept, Kevin thinks, that the one person who looks so perfect, albeit not flawless, to him, would carry something like depression on his shoulders, and from such an early age.

‘What’s got your brain in knots?’ 

The redhead's voice breaks the younger man’s reverie. He bumps Kevin’s knee with his hip, and as the blond looks up, he’s met with a gentle smile.

Damn Connor and his perceptiveness; damn the both of them, Kevin thinks, and how tuned in to each other they are.

His first instinct is to say nothing’s up, but Kevin doesn’t want to lie, doesn’t want to hide, and before he can allow them to do so, the words have left his mouth. 

‘How are you doing, Connor? Is there anything you want to, I don’t know, talk about?’

_Like your well above average anxiety levels, maybe._

Blue eyes train themselves onto Kevin, confusion evident in the lines of Connor’s face. 

‘Like what?’

Taking a deep breath, Kevin reaches out to take Connor’s left hand, in an effort to ground himself. 

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but after your panic attack last week, I really want to know if you’re alright. Because I’m not sure if you are, Con.’

‘I’m doing fine.’

Defensiveness creeps into Connor’s voice, and it’s only making Kevin’s plan so much harder to follow through with. On one hand he doesn’t want to put pressure on his boyfriend, but on the other hand, the young man feels like Connor may need some careful prodding to stop kidding himself.

‘Are you? Because I sleep next to you, and I notice you having bad dreams again, every night, and how you generally don’t seem to sleep all that well ever since,’ he gently tugs on Connor’s hand. The redhead follows, coming to stand between Kevin’s legs, his head tilted up while Kevin bends down slightly, their gazes locking just so.

‘And I know sleep problems are a sign of depression. As are changes in eating, and loss of interest, and fatigue, and headaches, and… stomachaches, and so many other things.’

The more he talks, the more insecurity creeps into Kevin’s speech, clearly audible in the way his voice wavers.

Something shifts between them. Connor takes Kevin’s other hand, giving him a look the former missionary can’t quite decipher.

But then, the ginger tilts his head to the side, a little smile stretching across his face.

‘Have you been googling, Kevin?’

Amusement swings in his voice, but it’s warm and comforting and far from any mockery.

‘Maybe.’

‘That’s sweet of you.’

Kevin rubs his neck, then, unsure how to react now that his partner is onto him. There’s no malice in Connor’s voice, nothing that shows he could be displeased in any way, but his partner is still insecure.

‘Yeah, well, your attack and all that followed really, really shook me.’ Talking is a way to cover up his insecurity, while also letting his emotions run free.

‘I know I shouldn’t feel like this, because it wasn’t me who kinda lived through it, for lack of a better description, but I was so, so scared Con.’

The redhead inches closer still, rising on his toes to gently bump Kevin’s nose with his own before restoring their original distance.

‘Hey, it’s okay. It’s alright to be afraid.’

Connor’s hands tighten, before he laces their fingers together and raises their joined hands to rest them on Kevin’s chest. It’s a very intimate gesture, Kevin thinks, and while the distance hasn’t changed, it feels like his partner is suddenly much closer.

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, or to feel bad about. I should’ve just asked how you were doing. I’m sorry, Kevin.’

An insistent beep from the oven interrupts them, announcing the quiche’s case to be ready.

‘Alright, let me just get this. We’re not done talking, though!’

Connor’s voice leaves no room for debate, but at this point Kevin doesn’t think he even wants to resist. Being honest like this, letting it all out and admitting to his worry, is freeing in a way he’s rarely experienced before. In Uganda, maybe, when the then-missionary realized – barely a (rather disastrous) week into his mission – that he couldn’t save the world single-handedly, but also that faith could take many, many shapes.

It had formed his two-year-stay, changed it for the better, and Kevin would like to think this conversation holds the potential to do something similar for their relationship.

Right now, he feels left in the dark. And although the blond doesn’t blame it on his partner, it still feels as if there’s a distance between them in this matter, which keeps them from being fully on the same page. It’s unusual for them, unknown.

Kevin doesn’t like the feeling very much.

As he watches Connor flit around their small kitchen, bending down to fill the still-hot case, the words, the truth, feel a lot easier to say.

‘I’ve never had anyone with depression around me.’

Of all the reactions he imagined, the way the redhead’s body stiffens is something Kevin didn’t really anticipate. He thought Connor would laugh it off, maybe, or tell him it wasn’t that different to living with a non-depressive person.

Now that he’s started, the younger man just keeps talking, in an effort to not think about what that reaction may mean.

‘Or anyone with any other kind of mental health issue, really. Or, you know, nobody _talked_ about it, so I’m assuming it just… isn’t _a thing_ in my family.’

In the silence between them, Kevin can hear his own heartbeat ring in his ears. The quiet clang of the oven door being shut reverberates through the kitchen; in contrast, Connor’s steps back to Kevin are quiet and light, bearing witness to the years of dance training. Tense seconds feel like hours, passing slowly as if they were moving through molasses, but when the couple’s eyes meet again, Kevin is taken aback.

Of all things, Connor looks guilty.

‘You should’ve told me, sweetie. Gosh, I’m so, so sorry.’

The older man makes to take Kevin’s hands again, but only the right catches; Connor’s left hand, with some slight, blink-and-you-miss-it hesitation, lands on Kevin’s shoulder, resting for a second before sliding upwards to cradle the young man’s neck.

‘Knowing you, you’ve probably felt horrible, haven’t you? Oh, Kev, I shouldn’t have ignored you, I should’ve asked and made sure you were okay instead of just springing this on you and leaving you to deal with everything that follows on your own.’

Touching is good, because it’s grounding. It’s real. It’s confirmation that Connor is still here, seemingly happy and healthy and not at danger of hurting himself.

Or is he?

As if to reassure himself, Kevin raises his own hand to cover Connor’s, still resting on the tan skin.

‘It’s okay, Con, it really is.’ 

The smile slowly crawling across Kevin’s face is one of those reserved for people closest to him. It’s soft and entirely unforced – a world away from what they were once taught, before heading out to Uganda. 

‘It threw me, and maybe I did feel a bit useless at first, but it was more… worrying about whether you’re okay or not.’ 

Well, that wasn’t so hard to say.

‘That’s not all that’s bothering you, though, is it?’

Kevin can’t hold back the self-deprecating chuckle. If it was anyone else but Connor, it would be scary how onto the younger man’s feelings he is.

‘How are you so good at this?’

‘Spent some time around psychologists, I guess, plus if you remember, I was District Leader, which is basically a posh name for mother of the house.’ 

As serious as the conversation is, Connor’s tone is light, joking even. The younger man thinks it calming, but there’s a feeling in his belly he can’t quite place or explain.

‘But seriously, Kevin. What else is bothering you?’

Suicidal ideation. Suicidal ideation. Suicidal ideation.

Just like that, the former missionary can’t think of anything else beyond a single symptom, a single aspect of Connor’s illness. He’s evaded the questions, every question Kevin asked him, too, which doesn’t exactly help with the situation.

‘Would you try to kill yourself again? If you had suicidal thoughts, I mean.’

It’s inappropriately funny, really, the way Connor’s eyes grow wide in surprise and shock, and his mouth opens and closes without making any sound at all. Just for a fleeting moment, he looks like a red-haired, blue-eyed fish; but somehow, Kevin can’t laugh. It’s funny and yet, at the same time, makes Kevin a bit queasy. He’d hoped for an immediate denial, rebuttal, anything.

The absence of anything like that is worrying.

‘That’s a rather insensitive question.’

He’s not used that particular tone of voice – detached, slightly cold even – in a while, and even before, Connor never directed it at Kevin.

‘What’s the answer, though?' 

A weird feeling slowly starts simmering in Kevin’s belly, like heat and cold and a thousand butterflies (but not of the good kind). It takes a second or two, but when realization sets in, it’s like he’s been hit by a truck: it’s anger, mixed with confusion and maybe, maybe a tiny bit of hurt.

 Connor’s hand slips from Kevin’s throat, just as the redhead casts his gaze down.

‘I don’t have one.’

He can’t even meet Kevin’s eyes, but what really gets the young man is the downright nonchalant way Connor shrugs his left shoulder. As if that was the answer. As if it was enough of an answer.

‘Can you maybe not be so gung-ho about this but actually take it seriously, please?’

Oh, he didn’t mean to say that, he really didn’t, but now the dam is broken and Kevin can’t hold himself back any longer. He’s always known he has a bit of a temper, and being treated as the prodigy child only made it worse (while, on the other hand, being with Connor had mellowed it out to the point of near nonexistence), but it’s been a long time since Kevin truly demanded something.

‘This might not be a big deal for you, or you might not take it particularly seriously, but it is for me, and I don’t even recognize you right now. So for the sake of everything that is and has been holy to us, please can you be serious and not deflect my question?’

For a split second, the redhead looks as if someone slapped him across the face, before his entire stance changes and he abruptly separates their hands and takes a step back.

Kevin can practically see the mask going up.

‘Why do you have to keep going on about this?’

Everything about Connor practically screams defensiveness and, at the same time, confrontation. Much like his hair, his eyes are ablaze, and the way he crosses his arms in front of his chest tell more than words ever could.

Kevin won’t let him get away this time. His mom used to say he was like a terrier: once he sunk his teeth into a matter, he wouldn’t let go until it was resolved in one way or the other. See: General Butt-Fucking Naked. The memory is so vivid, Kevin can still feel the book. Hopefully, this confrontation would find a more favorable end.

‘Because I’m worried. Because you keep dodging any questions about how you are doing, about what everything means for you, how you feel right in this moment and that’s frustrating and doesn’t help one single bit.’ 

‘Because I’m scared, Kevin.’

It’s rare for Connor to raise his voice like that, to sound this firm, so when he does, Kevin flinches slightly but immediately listens. It’s like Uganda again, like Connor going into District Leader mode. It didn’t happen all too often, which makes it that much more effective a tool.

‘No, scratch that. I’m fucking terrified of falling back into a depression. And when I say I don’t have an answer, then that’s not a lie, or dodging or anything. I just don’t. know. the. bloody. answer, because that’s how this shit works. And believe me, if anyone is gung-ho about this, it’s not me.

‘But please, do tell me how hard your life is, now that you’ve done some googling and whatnot, because it’s not like I’ve actually gone through all of this once, including the whole taking my own life because I feel too worthless and disgusting to be on this planet for any minute longer.’

With a huff, the former District Leader turns his back to Kevin, taking a few steps before coming to a halt. Unsure of what to say or do, the younger man decides to watch, for now, trying not to agitate Connor further.

They’ve never really fought, and Kevin really doesn’t want to start now.

So he watches the stiff, tense lines of Connor’s back, his shoulders moving with every breath. He watches as pale, white hands first cross behind the older man’s head before they slide into fiery locks, gripping the thick strands firmly and tugging once, twice, three times.

 ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed it.’

 Connor turns around again, on an exhale that sounds very much like a suppressed sigh, his eyes are red and his cheeks a bit blotchy. He’s not crying, not really, but he carries a slight aura of defeat.

'No, it’s… I shouldn’t have snapped. I should be the one apologizing, because you’re right.’

Wiping his face, he peers at Kevin through his fingers, giving a low groan before starting to slowly pace in front of where his partner is perched on the worktop.

‘Gosh, Kevin, I didn’t mean what I just said. I’m sorry. It was cruel, and unnecessary, and I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

Now it’s Kevin who’s at a loss for words. Feeling is weird, because his emotions are all over the place – confusion, hurt, fear, curiosity. He doesn’t know what to do, either, so all there is left for him is to watch what happens next and hope that the burning in his eyes stops before the tears start falling.

Suddenly, Connor appears shy. Instinctually, maybe mechanically, his hands grasp his own wrists, then slide up his arms until they come to rest on the redhead’s biceps. It looks, for all the world, as if he’s trying to hug himself, trying to find comfort in his own body. For the first time since they met, Connor looks absolutely lost. 

With a last, longing look at Kevin, he turns around once more, slowly making his way towards the living room.

And just like that, Kevin knows what he has to… no, wants to, do.

‘Hey, wait.’

Hopping from where he sat on the counter, and nearly hitting his head in the process, Kevin quickly crosses the distance between them. His arms reach for Connor, fingertips touching the older man’s hips before Kevin gently embraces his partner.

‘Don’t turn around,’ he mumbles, bowing down to touch his forehead to Connor’s neck.

The young man’s face is hot, and somewhat damp; it takes a second before Kevin realizes he’s crying. Warm hands come to rest on his arms, and for now, all the two men do is stand there, their breaths falling more and more into synch with each inhale-exhale.

‘I shouldn’t have pushed it like that. Forgive me?’

Connor takes a deep breath, as if he has to steel himself. In response, Kevin hugs him a little tighter.

‘No, you were right, darling. And yes, I’ll forgive you, but… I’m not sure what you want to hear from me.’

Soft lips press against Connor’s hairline, leaving Kevin’s lips tingling.

‘Why don’t you start with… I don’t know. Depression is one of those forever illnesses, right?’

The redhead nods, silently, encouraging Kevin to continue.

‘So, how about you tell me what to watch out for, like warning signs or something. Or just tell me what depression was like for you.’

Another snuffle breaks the silence, betraying the fact that Connor must be crying, too.

‘It’s… everywhere, in every bone of your body. It makes you tired, and sluggish, and sometimes aggressive,’ a little chuckle escapes Connor, but it’s nearly devoid of his usual easy humor.

 ‘Guess you realized that, just now. But well, it’s… it’s like swimming, like being underwater, with the surface in sight but you’re just that tiny bit too far away to break out and breathe, and you’re only sinking deeper. Or, better, as if your heart breaks, and then your mind just follows. And sometimes you have to force yourself to do things. Like get out of bed, because you’re so incredibly tired, or rather feel this bone-deep weariness, and it just makes getting up impossible.

‘Or you need to remind yourself to eat, because you’re so deep in your head, because the depression is keeping you so far down, you’d otherwise simply forget.’

Hearing the redhead speak about it makes Kevin’s heart beat faster. He doesn’t know whether it’s out of fear, or excitement, or just the wish to help, but he keeps his attention trained on Connor.

‘That sounds tough.’

‘It is. And the more you fight, the more fatigued you get, until your duvet feels like a lead blanket. And you feel all these things at the same time, like fear and guilt and hopelessness, but then there's also a big void in you, numbing everything until you feel like a column of nothing in the shape of a human. And there's that voice in your ear, whispering how you don't matter, how the world doesn't care if you're there or not, and it only drags you deeper.

'Imagine the dementors from Harry Potter.' 

After their mission, they had both grown obsessed with J.K. Rowling's stories. It had gone so far they had spent evening reading to each other, like an old married couple. Right now, the simile confuses Kevin, though. 

'That's the best image, really. Imagine the dementors descending on you, but instead of their soul, they steal the world's color, and your ability to feel anything positive - or anything at all, leaving you to sit in a weird, thick bank of fog.' 

Silence. 

‘…Can I turn around, please?’

Loosening his hold, Kevin obliges, but Connor doesn’t step away or creates any other form of distance. All he does is turn around and look into the former missionary’s face, before his warm hands land in the small of Kevin’s back.

‘So, what do you do, apart from like pills and therapy and stuff? Films and books always say self-care, like having ice cream and cuddles and whatnot, but does that actually help? Or is it just made up crap?’

This time, Connor’s sigh sounds fond, and the way he looks at Kevin is so warm, he wants to cry again, but for an entirely different reason.

‘Self-care isn’t always fun, Kevin. Sometimes it’s the seemingly little things, the really menial parts of your day, which are the hardest. And I’ll be honest, I don’t want you to see me like that.’

Before the young man can answer, one of Connor’s fingers lands on his lips. It’s so Hollywood, and Kevin grins to show he got the message, but it’s also wonderful to see some of that casual energy return to their interaction.

‘I don’t even want to think about that time, because I know my mental health has suffered from the attack, and I know I’m… not struggling, but I’m just really, really fucking afraid of falling back into a depressive phase like I had before, okay?’

A nod. It doesn’t take more, and they’ve reached an understanding, a peace.

Except there’s one more question, and while Kevin dreads asking it just as much as he dreads the eventual answer, there’s no way around it. One of the help websites said it was an important thing to ask, and if there’s one thing Kevin Price likes, it’s following the textbook.

Especially in situations as uncontrollable as this one.

‘Do I have to worry about you, Connor?’

‘No, not right now.’

There is no hesitation, no pause; the only thing coloring Connor’s voice is sincerity. Kevin can feel the weight being lifted off his heart. 

‘I know this is all new for you, and you must be so confused,… I don’t know if it’d be the same, but last time, the warning signs were pretty obvious.’

‘So what do I have to watch out for?’

This time, it’s Kevin whose hands cup soft, ruddy cheeks as their eyes meet.

‘Well, as I said a few days ago… last time, when it all started, I got weepy. Like, really weepy.’

A little self-deprecating smile crosses Connor’s face, making Kevin answer in kind.

‘I’ve seen you watch Bambi, I’m sure I’ll be able to cope.’

‘If you think Bambi was bad, you haven’t seen nothing. I’m pretty certain I started crying because the sun came out, one day. And generally, it just gets worse, I guess. Back then, I basically lost interest in anything and everything, overnight, and slept a lot instead. Or not at all. And when I really hit the bottom, I got irritable and sometimes downright aggressive, although that may have also been because I was in the midst of puberty and my hormones were just all over the place.'

Fingers hook into belt loops, then, drawing Kevin closer until Connor can easily sling his arms around his boyfriend and bury his head against a strong shoulder, his hair tickling the soft skin of Kevin’s neck.

‘But I can’t promise you anything. I wish I could say I won’t hurt myself, or I won’t think about suicide, but when it comes down to the nitty gritty, depression is one unpredictable monster. It might not come back, either, but nobody knows that for sure.’

They stand like that for a minute, two minutes. Kevin can’t resist smelling his partner’s hair. Below the faint layer of salty sweat, hinting at a dance lesson or two early in the day, he can make out sandalwood, and tea tree. It’s warm and heady and, mixing with the ever-growing smell of quiche filling their kitchen, makes for a wonderfully homey atmosphere. 

‘So… how can I help you, if, say, the worst happens?’

‘Just be yourself, I guess. I was a bitch, just now, but you just took it in your stride and didn't take any bullshit, which is good. I need that, I think. So, just like last week, you’re actually doing nearly everything right. If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have guessed this is the first time you’re dealing with this. So just… keep watching out for me, without putting me under pressure. Humans are like pressure cookers - too much and the lid blows off, except it's not a lid and nobody is ever the same after a suicide attempt. I know that.

'And I know it’s a lot to ask, and it’s probably going to be tough but we both know that you’re not the only one who forgets to take care of himself, sometimes.’

It’s not that much of an ask, Kevin thinks, mainly because that’s the way they already work, but he’s more than happy to pay even closer attention.

‘If worst comes to worst, and my depression actually does come back, don’t let me duck out of it. Don’t let me get away with avoiding the truth – we both saw what happens when I do, tonight.

‘I don’t want to lose you over this, Kevin.’

At the notion of Connor being just as insecure, as scared, about what this means for them, relief floods through the younger man. He grabs Connor a bit tighter, pulls him in that tiny bit closer.

‘You won’t. I promise.’

For a heartbeat, everything is quiet; then Kevin kisses him, like he means it, and they lose themselves for a minute, or three, or ten. It’s corny and cliché, but the former missionary is sure he can feel the stars realign, can feel the world fall back onto its original axis. For the entire time, nothing else besides the couple exists, and it’s glorious. Like being reborn, like chucking all their sorrows out of the window. 

The tension slowly leaves Connor’s body, making him melt into Kevin’s arms. If it wasn’t for nimble fingers drawing patterns on his back, the younger man could think his partner had fallen asleep.

‘You know, if you’re really unsure and scared, and if I ever fall into the hole again, you should come and meet my therapist,’ he murmurs against Kevin’s skin. 

‘Yeah, that actually sounds great. Do you think you should look for one now?’

‘Nah, I’m fine. I don’t need help right now – I think what I needed, really, was this.’

As Connor prepares himself to launch into further explanation, the oven timer announces their dinner is ready, and the spell broken.

Instead, he simply asks: ‘Fancy some quiche on the sofa?’

Just like that, everything feels like 40 minutes ago, like before the conversation. Or maybe, Kevin muses as he watches his boyfriend fish for oven mitts, maybe it doesn’t quite. He feels as if they somehow changed, as if their relationship just took a big leap forward.

‘Not as much as I fancy you on the sofa.’

Connor’s laugh is so utterly free and unrestricted, it makes Kevin’s heart swell in his chest.

‘Oh, you’re cheesy tonight. That’s an awful line!’

Kevin just about dodges the towel Connor flicks at him, and in spirit, sticks out his tongue as he grabs two plates and cutlery. Napkins are a commodity they don't always have in stock, and tonight it looks as if they'll just have to make sure not to spill anything. 

‘By the way, did I tell you your butt looks spectacular in those sweats?’

 Grabbing a plate, the redhead presses a kiss to Kevin’s lips.

‘I know,’ comes the cheeky reply, as he saunters towards the living room. In the doorway, he stops and turns around, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

‘Keep it up, and we might be looking at some extra special dessert tonight.’

Oh, the bloody tease, with his wriggling hips. If he wasn’t so controlled, Kevin would have him right here, on the carpet between kitchen and sofa (and, to be fair, it wouldn’t be the first time).

As he joins his partner on the couch, arranging their limbs until they’re comfortably curled together, it hits Kevin, square in the chest. Much like his sunny disposition and their shared love for Disney and cheesy lines, depression and all that comes with it is just another part making Connor into the person he is.

And although it probably won’t be easy, Kevin wouldn’t have him any other way.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, as promised, part two - more drama, more angst (I guess) and, hopefully, a light note to end it on. Also, quiche. 
> 
> As per usual, comments and kudos are much appreciated. They keep me happy and writing, so please, leave one or both if you like this, and if you have any constructive criticism, just shoot it my way!


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